


the whole world, it is sleeping (but my world is you)

by billet_doux



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Established Relationship, F/F, SO MUCH FLUFF, clarke and lexa are married, it's basically smut and fluff, they have a baby, you may want to call your dentist now because you'll probably get some cavities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billet_doux/pseuds/billet_doux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The steady thumping of Clarke’s heart is the reminder that Clarke is alive; she is yours, and you are hers; you are weak for her, and she is weak for you.  This steady beat beneath you has brought you more peace than any coalition, any alliance ever has.<br/>It is the most comforting sound in the world to you.</p>
<p>Or; the one where Clarke and Lexa are married and happy and the world is all good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the whole world, it is sleeping (but my world is you)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the tumblr prompt (?): I'm sending you good happy clexa vibes. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ but also holy shit imagine clexa sex and they're HOLDING HANDS and giggling at each other in the middle of doing the do.
> 
> Title based on lyrics from the song "Bloom" by The Paper Kites.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Shh, Clarke,”_ you whisper, smiling against her lips.

The woman beneath you cranes her neck back, pulling her lips away from your own with a hot, heavy pant.  Your lips move down her jaw line, teeth nipping as your hands busy themselves with the body beneath your own.   Another soft grunt comes from Clarke’s throat, and you place a chaste kiss on her neck.

“ _Lexa,_ ” she sighs, body arching up to meet your hand.  You curl your fingers ever so slightly, eliciting a guttural whine from the woman on your bed, and you have never felt more in control than at this moment.  _This_ is not the control being _heda_ demands; it is not the control you have grown used to.  This, Clarke’s body beneath your own, is a control earned; a control _given_ , a gift from the woman you love, and that is what makes the difference. 

You shush her again gently, bringing your lips down to her collarbone, her chest.  While your right hand works against the juncture of Clarke’s thighs, your left slides up her torso, resting between the valley of her breasts.  She reaches out to grab it with her own hand, wrapping delicate fingers around your calloused ones, and your lips spread into a smile against the thumping of her heart.  With slow, calculated movements, you bring her over the edge, feeling the heartbeat under your lips quicken, the hips under your hand jerk up, and hearing a strangled, broken cry from your _houmon_.

“Ai hod yu in,” you mumble against pale skin, relieving your hand of its duty and resting it on Clarke’s thigh.

Clarke lets out a contented hum, fingers dancing against the skin of the back of your hand.  “I love you, too,” she whispers back.  You rest your head next to your hand on Clarke’s chest, eyes fluttering shut.  These are the moments you love the most, every inch of skin against your lover, hearing the erratic _thump_ settling into that which has become your nightly lullaby.  Clarke lets out a small laugh, shaking your head against her body.  “What, one and done tonight, babe?” 

You learned long ago that when Clarke used this term, she was not actually referring to a _yongon_ , but was using it as a term of endearment.

The Sky People never fail to confuse you, but you have also long since learned to live with their strange expressions.

You grin against warm skin.  “You have tired me, woman,” you say.

Clarke’s hand moves from yours, running its course down your side.  “Then,” she whispers once more, nails digging slightly into the skin of your thigh, “just lay down and let me take care of my beautiful wife,”

Your eyes are heavy, begging for sleep, but you can never deny giving your love to her.

Obeying, you turn onto your back, letting Clarke hover above you, kissing her way down your throat ever so gently, as if anything more than a feathery touch of her lips against your skin would set you ablaze.

But how wrong she is in thinking this; even the gentlest touch, even her _gaze_ upon you sends you burning.  It is not the intensity of your love for her that destroys you; it is being with her, being loved _by_ her in any and every way that sets you on fire.  Your heart burns out of love, your body burns out of desire, your mind burns out of lust.  It is a pleasurable burning that you have felt since you first laid eyes on her, and you never wish for it to go away.

“Try to be quiet,” Clarke grins above you.  “Elle is sleeping,”

You roll your eyes, sleepily.  “ _Aurelia_ is too young to know what the noises mean, _Klark_ ,”

“She is also too young to be woken hearing her mother’s yapping,” Clarke teases you.  “She is just a newborn, after all.  She needs her rest,”

“As if I don’t?  You have exhausted me,” you tease her.  Clarke grins.  You let out a small grunt of frustration. "She can be moved to her own room, the nursery which you spent so much time preparing!"

Clarke rolls her eyes. "We are not moving our month old daughter out of this room until she can sleep through the night, Lexa. We've gone through this."

You sigh. "I know, she is too young. Her mother must be there instantaneously,"

Clarke smiles at you, hand running up the side of your thigh. "Only a couple more months, love. Then we'll move her."

You nod. After a moment, you huff out indignantly, “And I do not _yap_ like a canine." Clarke laughs, and you move your arms comfortably beside your pillow as Clarke moves her way down your body.

“You’re right,” Clarke mumbles, kissing down your stomach, teeth nipping at the taut skin.  “You mewl, like a kitten,” her eyes dart up to meet yours, as if daring you to respond, when her tongue meets your flesh and—

Your eyes flutter shut, head falling back against your pillow, hands gripping at the feathered cushion.  Any thought of denying the noises Clarke pulls from you is lost, as your lips hang open wide and Clarke steals the breath from your lungs.

Before long, your arms move from beside your head and down to grip the fur beneath you and the bundle of blonde hair between your legs.  You tug on the spun gold, urging Clarke where you want her, but your wife is smart.  She knows to ignore you, how to drive you mad with desire, how to take her time killing you in the most painless, beautiful way, before giving in.  She knows that driving you to the verge of tears in pleasure, bringing you the brink and pulling you back, sending you headfirst into the hurricane only to pull you into the eye of the storm, is how she gets what she wants.

You let out the particular sound Clarke likes to laugh at, a whine of need, and Clarke giggles against your body.  She lifts her head, pulling completely away from where you need her most to shush you, and you cant your hips and let out an even louder whimper, the loss of contact worsening her already slow torture.

She loves this you.  The mercy you show, the _weakness_ you show, for her, and only her.  The same weakness she shows for you.

And this, _this_ is the kind of submission you cherish.  It is not the submission of defeat in battle, nor the submission your people must give to you.  This submission is your choice and yours alone— _heda_ could be domineering, demanding control in every aspect of life, including the life lived behind closed doors, and yet you give this up, for _Clarke_.  It is the only submission you will ever show, and Clarke is the only one you will show it to, and that is what makes the difference.

Clarke kisses the inside of your thigh, once, twice, three times, inching further and further down, away from where she should be.  You grunt in frustration, tugging on her hair hard enough to pull her head back up, gently enough so it will not hurt her.  She grins up at you, bringing one hand up to your own.  White knuckles let go of your sheets, blood returning to your hand momentarily, until Clarke grasps it in her own, entwining her fingers with yours.  “ _Chek au_ ,” she demands, biting at the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh.

You decided long ago that teaching Clarke _Trigedasleng_ was the best choice you ever could have made, because her demands in your native tongue never fail to send you into a pool of desperate _need_.

You obey, your eyes meeting Clarke’s.

You are rewarded with her tongue against your body once more.  You grip tight at her hand, trying your best to watch Clarke, to obey her command, but your eyes squeeze shut and your head falls back and your hips rise up, and you let out a low, _“Beja, Klark_ ,” and she pulls you over the edge.

A cry comes from your throat as Clarke eases you through the rest of your passion, and kisses your thigh once more, lightly. You lay there, panting, eyes locked on the figure of your wife, smiling down at you with tired, happy eyes. "I'm going to check on Aurelia," she whispers before leaving the warmth of your plush bed. The dark furs fall off her body as she stands.

Your mind is hazy with the aftermath of euphoria, but you manage to pull yourself up into a somewhat upright position to watch the shadowy figure of your wife walk across the room. She draws the curtain you had set up as a pseudo-wall aside, approaching the wooden crib, peering over the edge of the crib. As if sensing her mother's presence, Aurelia stirs, and lets out a small whine, the beginnings of a midnight cry coming on. A smile tugs at your lips, watching as Clarke gently pulls the baby of of the crib, rocks her, and sings to her. It is a quiet lullaby, one which you have heard Clarke sing often, but it never fails to make you fall in love with your wife even more. Clarke rests your daughter’s head against her chest, gently rocking side to side as she mumbles the words to the beginning of a second lullaby. 

It is the most beautiful sight in the world.

In minutes, Aurelia is asleep once more, and Clarke lays her gently back into her crib, a long exhale coming from her lips.  You pull the furs beside you up, patting your bed softly, nudging your head to tell Clarke to join you once more, and she does.  You lay the blanket over her again when she has come in bed beside you, and you pull her close, kissing her forehead, her nose, her chin, her cheeks, peppering her face with a million kisses.

Finally, you press one last, soft kiss to Clarke’s lips, relishing in their softness, before you settle into your nightly positions.

Clarke lays on her back, head on her favorite pillow.  The pillow that used to be _your_ favorite, until you discovered Clarke’s chest to be a much better place to lay.

With one arm tucked against Clarke’s side and the other on her stomach, you rest your head over the soft skin of Clarke’s chest, a sigh escaping your lips.

Your _goufa_ is lured to sleep to this steady thumping because, for nine months, it what she learned to be comforted by.

You are no different.  For the past years, this same steady beating that has brought Aurelia to sleep has brought you peace of mind.  The steady thumping of Clarke’s heart is the reminder that Clarke is alive; she is yours, and you are hers; you are weak for her, and she is weak for you.  This steady beat beneath you has brought you more peace than any coalition, any alliance ever has.

It is the most comforting sound in the world to you.

As Clarke’s fingers run through your unbraided hair and you hear the evening out of that heartbeat you love, a smile spreads across your lips.

This is contentment.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me & request fics at jinglehalseys.tumblr.com!


End file.
